Hi everyone and welcome back to Tasting History.
On the last episode we talked about the Black Death,
and how medieval doctors prescribed certain foods that could help balance the humors to make you well again.
They didn't work, but at least they weren't grotesque, disgusting, or just plain odd.
But today we're going to discuss ten of the most
grotesque, disgusting, and just plain odd remedies for the Black Plague.
We're also going to make what I think is one of the weirder sounding remedies that's still edible—
candied horseradish.
I'm just curious to see what it tastes like. So let's find out!
Today on Tasting History.
(Tasting History instrumental music plays)
Doctors need three qualifications.
To be able to lie and not get caught, to pretend to be honest, and to cause death without guilt.
- Jean Froissart
Now I'd like to think that today doctors are held in a bit higher esteem than that,
but in the 14th century, Jean Froissart had the right of it.
Frankly then, doctors didn't know squat about medicine,
let alone curing the plague, bubonic or otherwise.
One cure, depending on your mood, was horseradish,
and that's why we're going to make a 15th century Spanish recipe for candied horseradish.
First, take a small saucepan of water, add some salt, and set it to boiling.
Then take about 80 to 90 grams of washed horseradish,
try saying that three times fast!
Washed horseradish, washed horseradish, wa— can't do it.
And scrape until it's clean and white.
Then slice it into strips about two inches long, and about an eighth of an inch thick.
Once the water is boiling, toss the horseradish in, and boil for 30 to 45 minutes.
You want it to get almost as soft as it can get, but make sure you keep an eye on the water,
because it can all boil away and then you'll just burn the horseradish.
Once it's done, drain the water and put the horseradish into a bowl with cold water.
Now you can leave the horseradish overnight, maybe change the water a couple times,
or you can do like the original recipe says, and leave it for nine days, changing the water every day.
The point is just to get all of the salt and the really horseradish-y flavor drawn out into the water.
Either way you do it, you should have plenty of time to hit that like button,
and learn about some of the remedies that make horseradish look downright genius.
One: herbs.
Now herbs can be medicinal, but not really against the bubonic plague,
and they definitely didn't think they were medicinal for the same reason we think herbs are medicinal today.
It just had to do with how they smelled.
See, one of the theories of what caused the Black Plague back then was
a conjunction of three planets a few years earlier, that caused a miasma to spread across Europe.
A miasma is like a cloud of noxious gas that you can't see and it causes disease.
It's not a real thing,
but people were really afraid of it!
And one way to keep it at bay was to surround yourself with fresh smelling herbs.
You could take some herbs and hold them up to your nose as you walked around the flea-ridden towns of medieval Europe,
and you'd be safe!
This theory was even kicking around in the 17th century. when the infamous plague doctors came about.
Those were the guys with the long beak nose, and they packed them full of herbs.
Now, I would take herbs any day over the second remedy to save yourself from the miasma,
which was to live in a sewer.
I guess even miasma didn't really want to hang around human excrement all day.
Yeah.
Now if your plague got real bad, you'd have to go straight to the source,
so number three is when a doctor would cut open your buboes
and pack it full of moss and weeds
and human excrement.
Oh, and it couldn't be your own either!
Then he would bind it up tight and send you on your merry way,
making you feel almost glad that you were about to die.
Number four: the flagellants.
Now while people thought that it was the conjunction of three planets that caused the plague,
it was God that made that conjunction happen.
Clearly he was mad!
Obviously the best way to get right with God back then was to go around from town to town
half-naked whipping yourself, and that's exactly what the flagellents did.
They believed that the more they punished themselves, the less God would feel the need to do it for them.
Pope Clement condemned the practice as heretical in 1349,
but every time the plague popped up over the next 300 years, those crazy flagellants weren't far behind.
Five: eating emeralds.
Now if you were real fancy, you can take a handful of emeralds,
crush them up into a powder, put'em in some water, and have a drink.
We don't really know why they thought this would work, but back in the Middle Ages,
precious gems had all sorts of magical properties attributed to them, so who knows?
Either way it probably felt like you were drinking shards of glass.
But that's how you know it's working.
Six: treacle.
Now if you can't afford emeralds, and who can, you could always try some treacle!
Bad news is, it needs to be ten years old and putrid.
The horrific smelling black goop was thought to be so repugnant
that the plague would just up and leave your body for good.
Now while we'll never have any proof that it actually worked,
there are some scientists today who think that after 10 years,
disease fighting molds could have grown on the black treacle.
So, you know, maybe this is the one to go with.
You know, sometimes, when I'm not feeling well, I like to take a warm bath.
So number seven is a warm bath
of urine.
That's right. Medieval doctors would prescribe you to take a bath of urine,
and sometimes a glass to swig down while you're at it.
Oh, and it can't be your own. It needs to have come from someone who was well.
No thanks, I'll just die.
Eight: the Vicary method.
Sounds very official, right?
Doctor shows up, says "I'm here to perform the Vicary method on you."
Of course you're gonna say yes!
Until you see that the doctor is plucking the rear end of a chicken
and strapping its bare butt to your armpits and groin to drive off the sickness.
(chicken crows)
Those poor chickens.
Now frankly, the lunacy of the Vicary method makes number 9 look kind of sane!
And that's when, on the advice of doctors,
Pope Clement the 6th spent all summer sitting between two huge roaring fires
so the bad juju couldn't get near him.
Now it actually worked, but it wasn't because the fire had any kind of special properties, which they thought it did,
It was because the fleas couldn't get anywhere near him because it was so freakin hot!
And that takes us to number 10:
just keeping away from the freaking fleas.
When it was first suggested that social distancing or quarantine worked,
people thought it was nuts.
God and miasma can get to you anywhere,
so what does it matter if you've holed yourself up in a country house away from all people?
But, even though people thought it was crazy back then,
we know now that social distancing and quarantine is the most effective way to keep disease at bay.
Written during the first outbreak of the plague in the 1340s,
Boccaccio's "The Decameron" is about a group friends who isolate themselves in a villa until the plague passes.
Again, during the first outbreak people thought it was crazy,
but as outbreaks kept coming and going over the next three hundred years, and people kept surviving,
the practice became pretty popular.
During an outbreak in 1606, Shakespeare locked himself away and wrote Macbeth and King Lear.
And then in 1665 during the very last outbreak in England,
Isaac Newton at the age of twenty-two locked himself away,
and came up with the basis of early calculus, and the theory of gravity.
But I'm spending my quarantine making candied horseradish, so...
Ha, take that Sir Isaac Newton.
Speaking of quarantine, while we're all locked away,
I would love some recommendations on what you'd like to see in future episodes.
Different foods you'd like to see me make or different eras, or even different cultures.
Leave me a comment and let me know what you want.
But for now, let's go finish our candied horseradish.
So after nine days or one day, whichever, it's time to make your syrup.
You can either take a cup of honey, or make syrup with a half cup of sugar and a quarter cup of water.
Both are mentioned in the recipe, so it's up to you.
Whichever you choose, put it into a small saucepan and heat it over medium heat until boiling.
Then add the horseradish and turn the heat to low, allowing to simmer for about 10 minutes, stirring regularly
You'll know when it's done because the syrup will make soft threads when you lift the horseradish from the liquid.
Once you're there, remove the pot from the heat and place each piece of horseradish on a wire rack to dry,
and you're ready to go.
So here we are—
candied horseradish.
Let's try it.
Crunchy!
Actually really good.
You can taste the horseradish but it has no spice at all— just sweetness and the flavor of horseradish.
Good job,
good job medieval people.
Delicious.
Now the recipe I used today is in the description below,
along with links to some of my favorite books on the Black Death.
So if you got time over the next few weeks, and I know you do, they're definitely worth checking out.
Again, I'd love recommendations on what you'd like to see in upcoming episodes,
so if you have anything, leave me a comment, and I will see you next time on Tasting History.